And Bridey rode on.
“It looks as if he was killed right here,” Zach told Morrissey.
Morrissey was apparently not a cold-weather fan. He was trying not to, but he was visibly shivering.
Four crime scene techs had accompanied Morrissey in the police patrol boat that had brought him out.
“I’d say he’s right,” one of the techs said. “No bird bleeds that much. And the sand…right there. You’ve got drag marks. Stay back, or you’ll compromise the evidence.”
There were drag marks. They had been smoothed over with some kind of makeshift broom, probably nothing more than a branch, but if you looked for them, they were there.
And they led to the water.
Two of the techs went out to Gary Swipes’s boat. Zach didn’t expect them to find anything there, since it was unlikely he had returned to it once he had reached the island, but they had to be thorough.
The police combed the island again, using waders to search the shallows, but there was no sign of Gary Swipes.
All he had left behind was a pool of blood on a dead bird.
Zach found himself searching through the small copse, examining the ground under the skeletal trees. Scrub grasses and a few hardy shrubs were clinging to existence there.
The area directly under the trees afforded no clues, but digging around in the shrubs, Zach discovered an object that didn’t belong.
A thermos.
A thermos covered in blood spatter.
He called the photographer over to get a picture of it in situ, then put on a latex glove and picked it up gingerly, and took it over to one of the crime scene techs to be bagged.
Phil Stowe looked at it forlornly.
“He was a tough guy,” he said thickly. “He could be a jerk, but he was a…decent guy at heart. He sure as hell didn’t deserve this.”
“What the fuck is going on out here?” Morrissey asked. “Shit!” It was the most anger—the most emotion of any sort—Zach had seen the guy display. “I thought I was giving him a break, giving him a chance to pocket some money—that ex-wife of his took everything. Some damned favor.” He shook his head.
“Someone will have to be out here all the time now. On the clock.”
The three of them were standing there, just staring at one another, when Morrissey’s phone rang.
He took the call, frowned, then looked at Zach as he flipped his phone closed. His expression was leaden.
“Zach, you’ve got to get back right away.”
Zach tensed. “What’s happened?” What the hell could it be? If there had been a problem, why hadn’t someone called him?
“That was Clara. She couldn’t reach you. They need you back at the house. Bridey passed away. I’m sorry.”
Amanda had taken to her bed in a fit of dramatics. Caer was with Kat, who was inconsolable. Sean and Tom had headed out, following Father O’Malley, to make arrangements with the church and the funeral home.
Clara was in no shape to deal with the situation, Marni thought. The old woman was family, too emotionally involved to be the hostess, so she decided to stay and help out.
Cal kept standing about awkwardly, or following her around, until he finally got on her nerves. She sent him off to the grocery and liquor stores with a list of things to buy. The O’Rileys were well-known in town. Everyone would be coming by to pay their condolences, and someone needed to be ready to welcome them.
Thank God the doctor had been there when Bridey died. That meant the O’Rileys wouldn’t be subjected to the official questions that were obligatory when someone died at home without a physician present. It was just the law, of course, but she knew it was difficult on those in the household. Her father had died at home, and the police had been forced to ask how and why. Without a doctor’s assurance of illness, a body would be subject to autopsy. Family members could wind up accused of murder. It was horrible, and Marni couldn’t even imagine Kat having to deal with such a situation.
She was just arranging glasses on a silver serving tray by the bar when she heard the door open. She rushed out to see who it was.
Zach.
He was grave but calm. “Where are Sean and Kat?”
“Tom took Sean to talk to Father O’Malley about funeral arrangements. I’m not sure when they’ll be back. Amanda is in bed ‘recovering,’” she said sarcastically. “Kat and Caer are up in Kat’s room, Clara is out back, and I just sent Cal to pick up some things we’ll need once word spreads and people start coming by.”
“Thank you, Marni,” he said. “I’m going to go up and see Kat.”
“Is there anything I can do for you, anyone you need me to call or anything?”
He shook his head. “But thanks. I know your help will mean a lot to everyone, especially to Sean.”
He’d been gone a few minutes when she thought she heard someone at the front door. It was beginning already, she thought, as she went to let them in. The next few days would be hard, but she intended to be there for the O’Rileys all the way.
She looked through the peephole in the front door and saw no one. She frowned. She was certain she had heard something.
She opened the door and looked to both sides.
Still no one.
Then she looked down, and a scream rose to her throat.
It was another one.
Another dead bird.
Horrible, contorted, lying there on its back, looking up at her.
Its eyes were open. Both of them. And they seemed to be staring at her.
Fear shot into her heart, and she gasped for air, only then realizing that she had been holding her breath.
Dead birds. Everywhere.
First at the office.
Now here.
She closed her eyes. She couldn’t deal with it; she just couldn’t deal with it. Bridey, yes. Bridey’s death had been natural and smooth and easy, and she knew that things needed to be done, so she would do them.
But another dead bird…
She closed the door and locked it, then realized how ridiculous that was. As if a dead bird could get in!
Shivering, she walked away.
“Zach!” Kat exclaimed when she saw him.
She had been lying down, her eyes huge and puffy from crying. Caer, sitting next to her, wore a deeply sorrowful look. She met his gaze and smiled weakly, but she stayed where she was as Kat rose and threw herself into his arms.
“Oh, Zach,” she sobbed.
“She was a wonderful person, and she lived a long, full life, Kat,” he said, holding her, soothing her.
“I loved her so much,” Kat said.
“And she loved you, Kat. She always said you were the light of her life. And she was so proud of your success.”
“Oh, Zach, I know she was old. I know she lived a full life. But I’m going to miss her so much. I can’t picture life without all her stories about leprechauns and banshees. Oh, Zach…”
“Kat, it’s all right.”
“I can’t stop crying.”
“It’s all right to cry.”
Kat pulled back slightly. “She loved you, too, you know.”
“I know. And I loved her back. We all did.”
“Have you called Jeremy and Aidan?”
“Not yet, but I will. I wanted to see you first.”
Kat started to cry again. “She was old, but people can live to be older. And if she’s old, then my father isn’t that far behind her. Zach, I’m so scared. If I lost my father now…”
“You’re not going to lose your father.”
She wiped her tears away, tipped her head back and studied his eyes. “You believe me that someone is trying to kill him, right? So this…This…won’t stop them,” she said in a whisper.
“I’m going to protect your father.”
“Oh, God, Zach, the birds. The birds came, and that’s why she died.”
Zach smoothed back her hair. “The birds are birds. Kat, Bridey was old. She caught a cold, and it turned into pn
eumonia.”
“She knew the banshee was coming for her. She told me that. I tried to tease her out of it, but she was right. She knew,” Kat said earnestly.
“Kat, people often know when they’re going to die. At least, that’s what they say.”
“Where were you?” Kat demanded suddenly.
“Out on Cow Cay,” he admitted.
“Cow Cay? Why? What happened out there?”
He realized that Caer was studying him, too, frowning in concern.
He didn’t want to say. He didn’t want to tell Kat that another man had disappeared, only this time, he’d left behind a trace of his existence and pretty irrefutable proof of his death.
His blood.
“Something is going on out there—I’m not sure what yet. A guy was out there and now…they can’t find him,” Zach said.
“He’s disappeared? Like Eddie?” Kat demanded.
“Yeah, I’m afraid so.”
“Oh, my God! Eddie, Bridey…my father getting sick, and now this man? What the hell is happening, Zach?”
“Kat, Bridey was sick. And old. It was just her time,” Zach said.
“Well, it was wrong. She should have lived to be a hundred. Time…The time wasn’t right, not for us, not at all.” Kat started sobbing, and he held her tightly again. There was little else he could say or do. He looked at Caer, feeling helpless.
She rose. “Kat, you may want to rest for a bit. It’s all right to cry, though. We cry because we miss people. But we have to believe that there is a plan, and a time and a place where we’ll meet one another again, where we’ll see them again and all will be well.”
Kat drew away from him and looked at Caer. “Do you really believe that? You sound so sure….” She actually managed a smile. “So…Aunt Bridey died in peace, and the banshee came for her just like she expected?”
“Aye,” Caer agreed gravely, and flashed a glance at Zach. “She was Irish, so the banshee came for her and showed her the way, so she wouldn’t be afraid. And as she left, she left behind all pain, and she left behind age, and her soul was as young and beautiful as ever she was.”
Kat released Zach and walked over to hug Caer, who hugged her in return. “It’s all right to mourn—in fact, we need to. But we need to celebrate, as well. She’s gone home.”
Kat nodded.
Zach straightened. “I have to go call my brothers. They’ll want to be here for the funeral.”
“Of course,” Kat said.
In his own room, he called Jeremy, who assured him that he would get in contact with Aidan, and that they would be there as soon as possible.
Then he went downstairs. People were already starting to arrive to tell Sean how sorry they were, although Sean himself wasn’t back yet.
It was all right. Marni was dealing with everything.
Zach slipped out and headed for the police station.
Morrissey was back in his office. “I’m sorry about Bridey O’Riley,” he said, “but…we’ve got another murder on our hands, so you’ll have convey my condolences for now.”
“Of course,” Zach told him.
“Awkward time, isn’t it?” Morrissey asked him.
“Yes,” Zach said flatly. “There should be something to do. But there isn’t.”
“There is.”
“What?”
“That young man you told to call me is in with a few of my men. They’re going through the tapes from the grocery store. Why don’t you go in and see if you can help his memory along?”
With the presumed murder of Gary Swipes, Zach was suddenly worried that any association with the case might be dangerous for Jorey, who probably hadn’t thought to keep it a secret that he was talking to the police. Which meant word could reach the killer. Damn, he should have thought of that.
Morrissey stared at him, his eyes narrowing. “Who knew that you were digging up Cow Cay?” he asked.
“Caer Cavannaugh,” he said. “And you.” He stared at Morrissey, who stared back at him.
Zach couldn’t prevent the unbidden thought that came to him.
Morrissey. No. Impossible. No one could put on that smooth an act.
Oh yeah?
Anything was possible. He’d learned that through the years.
“I don’t know if it’s even relevant or not,” Morrissey said. “Although, it’s one of two things. Someone knew that the island was being guarded and went out there anyway to do or get…something, figuring he’d deal with the guard if he had to. Or that same person headed out to the island, stumbled onto Gary and felt he had no choice but to kill him. All of which gets us precisely nowhere.”
“I’ll step in with Jorey. Maybe my presence will help,” Zach said.
Morrissey nodded and rose. “Follow me.”
Jorey and two policemen were in one of the interrogation rooms, watching videos. Jorey smiled when he saw Zach. “Hey, Mr. Flynn.”
“Jorey, thanks for trying to help.”
One of the officers suddenly spoke up. “Look. There’s Amanda O’Riley.”
“And Kat,” Zach said.
“And there’s Clara. I recognize half the city,” Jorey said, shaking his head with dismay. Then he froze. “There—look. There’s the guy who went out with Eddie that day!”
16
It was a sad household, Caer thought.
The O’Rileys’ place in the community was obvious; people stopped by the house all through the day, quietly, respectfully, and with genuine warmth.
Once Kat had fallen asleep, there was little for Caer to do except sit in her own room or wander around the house, but she was lonely in her room, and Marni had the house under control. She didn’t want to leave Kat alone forever, but she didn’t want to just stay around doing nothing. It had already been a long and painful day.
Finally she decided that even though it was a bit of a walk on a cold day, she was going to head down to the charter office, which was officially closed due to Bridey’s death, and see what she could discover there.
It was a longer walk than she’d realized. Maybe in summer it was pleasant, but today she was cold.
And empty.
It wasn’t surprising that Michael had assigned her to assist Bridey. Age would always be man’s enemy; no matter how science progressed, there would always be things that robbed a man of life, and life of its value.
The human body was not immortal.
It was, however, amazing.
There had been other times over the years when she’d taken this form, the one with which she’d been born. And it was always a pleasure and a revelation.
People so often misunderstood her role. She did not take life. Life was lost to the natural order of the world. She simply helped those who died. There were evil banshees, of course. Evil men and women made evil banshees. Michael was always on guard against such creatures, who caused only havoc and pain.
Michael had been around since the beginning of time, but he never explained where the evil banshees had come from; he only warned those who served him that they must never make more of such creatures. He knew so much, she thought, knew all about humans and mortality. Banshees were Irish and it was their role to help the Irish, though sometimes they assisted others, as well. For the most part, though, every ethnicity had its own beings who came to escort the dead.
The ancient Greeks had crossed their river Styx.
The Norse were taken to Valhalla.
And always it was the escorts who controlled the experience, who made the journey one of joy or, on those rare occasions when evil slipped in, of horror.
A new banshee had to be chosen with great care, and always the choice was Michael’s. It was the banshees’ job to take the hand of those who had lived good lives—they didn’t have to be saints, they simply needed to have treated their fellow humans with the same kindness about to be given to them—and escort them into the next world. The coach that came, the black carriage drawn by the plumed black horses, was strictly Irish.
&
nbsp; Hers was a compartmentalized duty. What became of others, she didn’t know, nor did she have time to worry about it. The Irish had populated all corners of the globe, so banshees tended to be very busy.
Death in old age was not a tragedy. It was the natural progression. Death at a young age was wrong, against nature, against the great plan. It occurred, and when it did, sometimes a new banshee was born. She herself had been a victim of ages of conflict, of hatreds that had been bred into people for hundreds of years. Murdered for love—both sad and poetic.
It was said that at the moment of someone’s death, a banshee who had taken on human form, as they were sometimes required to do, could convince the dying soul to take her place. But that soul had to be a worthy one, for there was no sin greater than allowing someone cruel, someone evil, to become the escort of the dead as they made their journey to the land beyond, where the hills were green, and youth and beauty and happiness were returned.
She had always enjoyed her work, which she saw as the final kindness for those who had led deserving lives. She slipped into their minds to take them gently to whatever rolling hills and old loves reigned in their souls. She had seen men who had been strong in their convictions, women who had quietly been the strength behind great men, and all those in between, as well as those who had learned, at the end of their days, that the things they had fought for, the wars they had waged, had not been everything—they had learned late that killing in the name of God was not always just and never done with God’s approval.
She had taken those who had given their own lives to save others, and she had been glad to be there, to say thank you, to let them know that their love and sacrifice had not gone unnoticed.
In human form she had enjoyed the fashions of many ages, seen sights of incalculable beauty, and reveled in sweet and subtle perfumes.
Like Michael, she’d savored many good meals.
But she’d never indulged in such physical pleasure before, and now she knew too well why she had been wise not to do so.
Pain.
Allowing herself the pleasures of the flesh could, in the end, bring only pain.
She could not be killed again. She might feel it when she bruised herself, if she tripped or received a cut. But it would be gone in a wink. But in the great dilemma of life and death, internal suffering was far worse than any physical pain.